Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Treating time to a swing on the old tree sled.

I've been really good at filling my time lately. I do everything at once while I think about what I'm gonna do next. One of these things was finding a close proximity to a recorded bass tone that makes me smile. . . and then rocking it out like the devil himself's got me hired to play his bachelor party.

If you wanna hear it, it's here, and for some reason it's called Bass Ness.

5 Comments:

"The old tree sled" sounds like a euphemism for some kind of semi-acrobatic sex act that involves punching somone in the ass with your chin. Wait... that's actually called; "The Oliy Tree Salad." Fuck, what were we talking about...?

Music comes from the spaces between the sub-atomic particles. That vast expanse of space between every neutron, proton and nucleus is littered with it.

One time when I was playing-out, all fuckered-up on a diverse cocktail of substances, I had this strange realization. My bass tones where not shaking people or shaking walls and tables . . . they where shaking the space between the particles of those things' material compositions